Parents: John & Soraya Calloway (step-mom), Ashley Brown (bio mom)
Siblings: Chanel & Dior Calloway
Occupation: Street Racer for The Cavalry / Bartender at The Nines
Birthday: November 30th (Sagittarius)
Faceclaim: Jacob Elordi
Hometown: Brooklyn, NY
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Character Inspiration: Brian O'Conner (Fast & Furious), Dean Winchester (Supernatural), Baby (Baby Driver), Steve Harrington (Stranger Things)
tldr;
– YVES CALLOWAY is a Brooklyn-born street racer, the only son raised inside his family’s dive bar, where dockworkers, hustlers, and gearheads taught him engines, loyalty, and how to read a room. Naturally gifted behind the wheel, he fell into street racing young - first for adrenaline, then for money. When a fire nearly destroyed the bar and left his parents hospitalized, racing became survival rather than sport. Responsibility pushed him deeper into the underground, chasing bigger payouts and bigger risks. Only a few months ago, rumors of the Cavalry reached him and he offered his skills before desperation could corner him. Now he balances fresh blood status with the Cavalry and long shifts at The Nines, the family bar that he and his siblings refuse to let go of.
READ BELOW for fun facts, biography, possible connections.
headcanons & random facts
doesn't smoke a lot, but always carries a pack of cigarettes with him
doesn't like planning for anything - he is able to solve problems better on the spot
rarely ever wears jackets, even when it's cold outside - unless he's racing
starts his car twice before every single race that he has ever been in
memorizes every word that others say and it makes his job as a bartender incredibly easy
basically a math genius
loyal to a fault - the kind of person that will drive across town at 3 am because his friend asked him to, no questions asked
very calm but will not hesitate to start a fight if he deems it necessary
drives a 1990 ferrari that he pretty much built himself, little by little
background
Born and raised in Brooklyn. The only son out of 3 children in a merged family
Grew up inside the family dive bar, back in the day it was called Calloway’s, a scrappy spot known as neutral ground for dockworkers, small-time hustlers, and street racers. Parents worked hard and stayed out of the criminal life, but they knew how to keep peace in a rough neighborhood.
His knowledge of cars came through patrons at the bar - a crowd of people that had almost became family, willing to teach him from drifting to intricate mechanic work - mechanics, racers, and gearheads.
Became a natural driver early: fast reflexes, photographic memory for routes, no fear of speed after he started hanging around street racing circles, drawn to the adrenaline and brotherhood.
He started racing for money out of pure boredom, or that adrenaline junkie everyone is at sixteen years old - but then he won for the first time, thousands of dollars, the kind of money he’d never really seen, that was when he knew he couldn’t let it go.
He had been racing when the call came from his sister - the bar was almost gone, both of their parents and multiple regulars laid in hospital beds, unsure if they would survive it.
The next time that Yves raced, it was not for fun, but to help his family with never-ending debt caused by the fire that left only ashes and ruins for people that had never really had much to begin with.
By his mid-twenties, his father and his step-mother were ready to give up on the one thing that had remained the glue to their family - the dive bar. That was when he and his sisters stepped up, with dreams bigger than logic and nothing else to lose.
As good of a racer as he was, Yves knew he needed a faster way to make more money - he doesn’t try to make ends meet, he wants to earn more and more - so when there were rumblings of a new gang that hired street racers, he didn’t hesitate to reach out and offer his services to its higher ups. Initially to show his worth, later with the hopes to score an actual job with them.
Racing comes easy to him - so the job is almost fun despite how tied it is to his livelihood and the promises he made to his younger sisters, an added bonus is feeling like he is starting to belong somewhere.
As for the dive bar, after multiple renovations, it is run by Dior nowadays and it’s called The Nines, with Chanel and Yves helping out where needed. Yves bartends as often as he can, as long it doesn’t affect the steady income that The Cavalry has became for all of them.
Yves had carried an immense amount of guilt since he was sixteen; the first fire at The Nines, back then with a different name, had been caused by him. By his street races, for the way a race made him feel. He had lost many times back then. Enough to make it matter to people that were on the other side. The price that he'd paid was that of a family that had no clue he was to blame for it, that still supported him.
That pain - the guilt, the sorrow - was nothing compared to the realization that now he was expected to continue existing in a world where his sister no longer did. That there would be never be another phone call, another text, another night spent watching a movie with Dior and Gianna, or family dinner with Chanel and their parents. That in some many aspects of his life, there would always be an empty seat.
For that reason, Yves had no answer to her question. Optimistically, he imagined they would both be okay at one point, but when that would happen was an entirely different thing. The pain in his body was non-existent, despite the raspy voice, and the coughing, and the face mask. It was incomparable when put next to how broken he was where it truly mattered, exactly what he found in Gianna's eyes too.
"I'll be fine." Physically, all he needed was a few hours. He knew she understood the other side though, so he did not clarify. If anyone in his room understood it, was the woman that had stayed by Dior's side through it all for almost their entire lives. He turned his head to watch his parents through the glass doors that separated them as the older couple stood outside, grieving in their own way as they broke the news to other relatives - staying busy.
Keeping the oxygen mask around his neck, Yves ignored the way his voice almost broke as he spoke up and then he squeezed her shoulder, his gaze still following his parents'. "We're gonna find out who did this, G." And while that wouldn't fix things, nor would it bring Dior back, it would keep him sane - the idea that someday, they would pay.
Loss was a daily risk. She'd come to terms with that long ago. Yet, as her brown eyes followed his line of sight through the glass to find Randy and Soraya, the words that flooded her brain currently were that parents weren't meant to outlive their children. It brought another pang of guilt to surface within her chest with the thought of them fighting a loss that would never heal.
Yves pulled her attention back when he spoke again, with a statement that prompted a nod of her head in confirmation. "Yeah." Despite how softly it emitted, despite the sniffle that punctuated it, there was a certainty that lived beneath it. "We are."
What she failed to voice aloud was what she suspected. That this was no accident. It wouldn't be said here, not tonight, not with his parents on the other side of that door and his oxygen mask still hanging around his neck and both of them barely keeping themselves intact. Gianna always kept up a brave face for her family. Even on the days it felt like it might finally break her. But today it did break her.
But she meant it. And whatever it cost her to find out, whatever it led back to, whatever suspicions it confirmed - she'd already decided it had to be done.
How? How was anything meant to be figured out? How would anything resolve itself from here?
In this moment, she couldn't fathom a world where figuring it out was something that happened. Where the apartment existed as a place she went home to rather than a place she endured. She couldn't see past the next hour, let alone past the next breath. One that shattered simultaneously with his arm around her, drawing her in.
And she'd come undone.
She'd been holding it all her life. That was the thing that nobody saw when she'd gotten so good at holding it the fuck together that it had stopped looking like effort. Held together, held down, pushed past. She gritted her teeth and got on with it because life didn't stop when her dad died, nor when her mother went to prison and she'd been propelled into role of mother and caretaker of younger siblings. Life didn't stop when she'd signed her life away to a cartel. Life didn't stop when her father was murdered - no.
Life didn't stop when your best friend died either. It just felt like it had.
A breath came out wrong. Too shaky, too unsteady. It wasn't loud. It was similar to a silent crack in the foundation that gave way to a flood gate to break through. Her forehead found his shoulder in search for some sort of solace. A hand lifted, gripping the fabric of his sleeve void of any thought past the fact Yves must have felt whatever she felt on a multitude of ten.
"Okay." More breath than words, muffled through a sniffle and her face buried against his shoulder where she'd decided, for right now, she was staying. But what felt like ten seconds passing was far more like three minutes, then she'd realized her grip on him and his injuries. The oxygen mask, the hospital.
Pulling back, her hands shifted - to his face, to his shoulders. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
Yves had carried an immense amount of guilt since he was sixteen; the first fire at The Nines, back then with a different name, had been caused by him. By his street races, for the way a race made him feel. He had lost many times back then. Enough to make it matter to people that were on the other side. The price that he'd paid was that of a family that had no clue he was to blame for it, that still supported him.
That pain - the guilt, the sorrow - was nothing compared to the realization that now he was expected to continue existing in a world where his sister no longer did. That there would be never be another phone call, another text, another night spent watching a movie with Dior and Gianna, or family dinner with Chanel and their parents. That in some many aspects of his life, there would always be an empty seat.
For that reason, Yves had no answer to her question. Optimistically, he imagined they would both be okay at one point, but when that would happen was an entirely different thing. The pain in his body was non-existent, despite the raspy voice, and the coughing, and the face mask. It was incomparable when put next to how broken he was where it truly mattered, exactly what he found in Gianna's eyes too.
"I'll be fine." Physically, all he needed was a few hours. He knew she understood the other side though, so he did not clarify. If anyone in his room understood it, was the woman that had stayed by Dior's side through it all for almost their entire lives. He turned his head to watch his parents through the glass doors that separated them as the older couple stood outside, grieving in their own way as they broke the news to other relatives - staying busy.
Keeping the oxygen mask around his neck, Yves ignored the way his voice almost broke as he spoke up and then he squeezed her shoulder, his gaze still following his parents'. "We're gonna find out who did this, G." And while that wouldn't fix things, nor would it bring Dior back, it would keep him sane - the idea that someday, they would pay.
Grief had always seemed to Eleanor like something that belonged behind closed doors, in rooms with drawn curtains and untouched glasses of water on bedside tables. She’d known sadness once, when her grandmother died, but she had been six, small enough for death to feel like a word adults lowered their voices around rather than a hand closing over the world. Dior was different. Dior had been Yves’ sister, and the thought pressed beneath Eleanor’s ribs with a slow, bruising weight. If it had been Alix, if that bright, very necessary part of her life had vanished, she wasn’t sure her knees would’ve remembered their purpose. So she went to him, knowing that she just wanted to be there.
There were books for this sort of thing, probably entire shelves devoted to grief and how to survive it, but she didn’t have time to sit and read through as many as she could find until she became a self proclaimed expert. Her heart was already three steps ahead of her as she stood barefoot in the middle of her kitchen attempting to make lasagna. It was something she’d seen on some show once, woman showing up at a grieving neighbor’s door with a casserole dish and no expectation of being thanked, and the image had lodged itself in Eleanor’s mind like a small, practical form of love. After too many cooking blogs that buried the recipe beneath childhood memories and a dozen TikToks that made everything look suspiciously easy, she managed it. Almost. In her defense, it turned out perfect, and also large enough to suggest she’d been cooking for relief effort rather than one grieving man.
“It’s lasagna.” Ellie said as soon as Yves opened the door, the words spilling out before the silence could make her lose her nerve. Heat still clung to the dish between her palms, seeping through the towel wrapped around it, and she kept her eyes on him only in small doses as she made her way into his kitchen. “But for like maybe half of New York. I don’t know, I just measured with my eyes instead of the little glass measuring thingy.” She didn’t add that she’d searched every cabinet twice looking for that stupid measuring cup. Ellie set the pan on the counter, then turned back to him and reached before she could think better of it. Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers finding the warm, quiet place at his nape, and for a moment the whole house seemed to hold its breath. He was close enough that she could feel him inhale, and she so desperately wanted to give him words of comfort. Something. Anything. But all she had was the press of her cheek near his and the ache of not being able to take any of the pain away. Then the thought struck, and she drew back just enough to meet his eyes. “Oh god.” She said, almost whispering. “Do you even like lasagna?”
If Yves had learned something about grief the past few days, it was how easy it was for it to take away traits of himself that he had - irrevocably - taken for granted in the past. The expectation of it being a good day ,that always accompanied Yves, seemed dull in comparison to the absence of someone that he had known for almost all of his life. Although people always said it went away eventually, that it stopped hurting as much at one point, Yves felt it wrong to even think of a time in his life where he could find the emptiness that Dior left behind a part of his new normal.
Before the fires, Yves and Ellie had fallen into an easy routine that kept them orbiting around each other. It had just happened one day; from his spot as her official soda guy to her invitation on an impromptu trip that said more about where they were than anything they had admitted out loud to each other. Despite the unfamiliar numbness that he carried around these days, the sight of Ellie at his parents' front door almost made him freeze, only moving to follow her into the kitchen. She carried the confidence that made her Eleanor Harrigan and for the first time since the fire at The Nines, Yves didn't hate the thought of normalcy, not if it included having her around.
He hadn't realized how close he had been following her until she turned around and they were immediately in each other's space, nor the fact that his eyes had remained anywhere that wasn't her until he closed them as she slipped her arms around him. And all Yves could do was inhale, hands finding her to bring her closer, the knot in his throat stubbornly growing. "You made that much lasagna without a measuring cup?" The words left him as he leaned down, his cheek brushing hers, and thought a smile doesn't form, it could be heard in his voice. The pain had nowhere to go, but it was now muffled by her words, by her eyes locking on his for the first time as she pulled back.
"You've clearly never seen Randy and I's annual lasagna competition or you wouldn't have asked that." he whispered. It was more of a joke than a reality, seeing as the Calloway men friendly competed about everything but his eyes were soft, scanning her face as if the action would give him the peace that he was desperately looking for and avoiding, all at once. One of his hands slid up her back, brushing her neck only to push a strand of her hair behind her shoulder carefully. His fingers stayed at her shoulder a moment longer than they needed to, then dropped back to her back. He looked at the lasagna again, then back at her, and he failed to find the words to thank her for simply showing up, and how much it meant to him. "Think this means I owe you like a hundred diet coke runs now."
𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 to herself in days. she wasn’t ready for one. she stayed busy with work, not wanting to think about dior, about the terrifying way she died. it wasn’t fair. seeing yves at the station stopped her short, and she felt her stomach drop. there was nothing she could say. there was no version of this that was okay. “yeah, that tracks. it’s kind of a zoo here right now. i don’t know if harvey’s still in the hospital or what, but we’re all kinda scrambling.” her jaw shifted slightly, like she was chewing on something she didn’t say out loud. “there aren’t a ton of updates yet,” she continued, keeping it straightforward, because anything else would feel like lying. “we’ve confirmed arson. but outside of that, it’s a lot of pieces we’re still trying to put together. i know that’s probably not what you want to hear.” she looked at him, keeping her expression even, her eyes not too soft, not lingering too long in one place, trying to avoid looking at him the way people had looked at her after her dad died. she wanted to ask how he was holding up, but that was a stupid question to ask. instead, she tipped her head slightly. “have you eaten today?”
For all their differences and disagreements, Yves would still trust Kennedy when it truly mattered. He hadn't set out camp at the station in hopes of finding her there, but when she showed up, the part of him that still held onto their past adventures and familiarity felt almost grateful that she was there now. That it was someone that would, at least, be honest. Even if she wanted something different for him, Yves trusted her to be nothing but who she always had been. He looked away at her answer, not expecting more, truthfully, but still hard to hear. Yves didn't expect the police to solve this case though, he had a better chance if he asked Charlie to help do that, if he were honest. Their opponent this time was some leagues ahead of the NYPD, that much was clear.
"What do you think?" He asked slowly, looking back at her intently. She had no obligation to share anything with him, that much he was fully aware of, but Yves found himself needing to hear what he thought aloud. Someone that could confirm for him that there was someone to fight, someone to pay. Vengeance was never something he thought of, but all he could think of these days was how to be useful in a way that truly mattered. That made a difference. Shaking his head, Yves managed a sad smile her way. "Did you ever think it was possible for me not to be hungry?"
At the mention of her hands, Chanel looked down at her bandaged palms, entirely unfazed by her own wounds. Sure, they were tender and sore, and she was likely at risk of scarring. But yet, the pain was nothing compared to what she felt inside. "They're okay," Chanel swallowed, gazing up at her brother as she stepped inside. "How's your throat? It sounds sore."
Unlike usual, Chanel's voice was soft and gentle, every bit of her usual sarcasm replaced with concern. It had been a difficult night for the entire family, and she could only imagine how Yves and Gigi were coping. "I've never seen mom and dad so distraught. I stayed with them as long as I could, but I had to get out of there for a bit... It's hard. The crying. I just keep running everything back in my head, Yves. Not only yesterday, but our time together. I should have been a better sister."
"I think it's supposed to hurt, but it doesn't." Yves only shrugged - truthfully he wasn't sure what caused the ache in his throat, between the fire and how much he had silently cried, or fought the tears. If you asked him, he barely could feel the pain, despite how visibly out of it he seemed to be. Physical wounds; he was used to them, wore them like medals after a long day of work. Yves didn't thrive on perfection, but in a job well done, even if it didn't go according to plan. Instead of speaking up, he let his sister into Gianna's apartment and led her to the living room - where he and Gig had camped out for the night, the thought of making it farther into the home impossible for either of them.
The eldest Calloway sat on the couch, looking uncomfortable as ever, as usual, given his rather large figure compared to almost everything around him. Chanel's words weren't surprising, as he expected nothing less from their parents, in a way, he was giving them some time to grieve, but would check on them in a few hours. With his own arms wrapped around his chest, Yves shook his head. "Dior loved you, Chanel." Even if she didn't understand the distance between them, as neither did he. As different as Chanel had always claimed to be, he could see their youngest sister all over her. Their mannerisms, the way their eyes lit up when they talked about something important. "You could have been the best sister in the world, and that still wouldn't dull the ache of losing her." He knew, because he and Dior were inseparable and now, now Yves felt lost for the first time in his life, as if he could never recover from this. He knew he would, but in a lot of ways, he wasn't sure how. Rubbing at his eyes, Yves swallowed hard. "Why would anyone set fire to our bar two times, Chanel? Who would do that to us?"
luna had been grateful nothing bad happened to his sister but there had been others who lost their own. it was a difficult situation to bear , remembering how she felt when she just knew ozan was no longer with them -- nothing could really be said or done and she knew that. she watched as he took off his mask , his voice so much more mellow than what she was used to. " well -- we can't force you to stay , " she said taking the mask from him. " but -- the coughing could get worse since you most likely have soot in your lungs which could give you problems in the long run. you should stay longer --- for chanel and for randy. " two people who she knew he cared about immensely. " she's on my list , doesn't seem as severe but i'll see what she gets the care she needs , " she paused. " and you should too. "
In a way that was unfamiliar when it came to Yves Calloway, her words were only met with silence. He was known for covering silence with humor, for acting before thinking, and yet all he could give her was the quiet notion of the fact that he was barely in that room with her - as if a part of him had remained at the bar, turned to dust along with his sister and all the memories that would now never be the same. It dawned on him, that after such tragedy, the Calloway family would never be the same. "I can't spend the night here." His tone was lacking its usual warmth, not directed at her specifically, but at anyone who was near. "I can't--" Yves cut himself off and then let out a deep breath, as much as he could. He couldn't think about himself right now, he couldn't be by himself and his thoughts. His eyes followed Luna's hands and then moved up to her eyes. "My parents can't spend the night here, they're dealing with enough." And they would stay if Yves had to, that was obvious.
A few days had passed, Yves was in better shape physically, voice stronger. Clarity had yet to come to him when it came to the loss of his youngest sister though. He was sure it would come at some point, that feeling that people described when they lost someone and they were happy because they knew that person was doing better wherever they were. He wasn't religious, nor was Dior. And all he knew was that she wasn't around anymore. That he couldn't call her, that they would never share his wired earphones to watch a video on his phone. All he could think about was the last moments of her life and how traumatizing they must have been. Going to the police to get answers proved useless, it was all just excuses, and yet there he was, sat with his head down, waiting for yet another detective when Kennedy Camara showed up. "Hey," he lifted his hands up, as if in surrender. "Not in trouble this time. Just want to know about the case so they have me waiting."
CLOSED STARTER for @yvescalloway
LOCATION: Gigi's House
Chanel's entire world had shifted overnight, The Calloway household mourning not only the loss of their family legacy, but the daughter who had always managed to hold things together with such pride. Chanel had endured her own injuries, sure, but there was no price she wouldn't have paid to save her sister. No risk she wouldn't have taken to get Dior out of the fire had she realized it sooner.
Staring down at her blistered palms, the brunette blinked her tired eyes, having barely slept a wink the night before. Her mind was far too consumed with her thoughts and fears. Things she wished she had said or done differently, all while memories of the fire replayed in her head.
While she understood Yves' desire to stay with Gigi, Chanel had felt the need to spend the night at their childhood home, comforting both of their parents even when her own heart ached with anguish. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, what she truly needed right now was her brother. Which was exactly how she found herself knocking on Gigi's door. And why she breathed a sigh of relief when Yves was the one standing behind it.
Without saying a single word, the woman lunged forward, drawing both arms around her brother's neck in an attempt to pull him into her embrace. Chanel had never been good with vulnerability, but she could only hope that her actions spoke louder than words. That her love outweighed any tension.
It was a simple assumption on his end; that all of them had made it to safety after he called out for everyone as the flames soared around him. Yves had opened every door he could, he'd been drenching wet due to the sprinkler system turning on. It just wasn't enough. He had never seen fire react in such a way; as if someone had almost been throwing gasoline over The Nines, igniting it faster and faster.
When they'd figured that the youngest Calloway was still inside, firefighters were inside doing everything they could. And all Yves had left of his sister were the words of the doctor still ringing in his ears, twelve hours later. Though he and Gianna had decided to camp out in the living room - neither of them ready to go anywhere near Dior's bedroom or further into the apartment that she and Gianna had shared, he hadn't slept all night.
And in the morning, his own coughing kept him from doing so. His physical pain was slowly catching up with the emotional toll of a loss so big that he couldn't even begin to process it even now. He wondered every few seconds if she'd just show up again; walk through the front door with two new boxes of cereal and whatever fixation she had that week.
When the door opened and it was Chanel, relief still flooded him. It didn't matter that she'd been distant for so long. He felt half of his actual size as he hugged her almost instantly, as if nothing had ever been different between them. Yves stood there for a few seconds, failing to come up with words for either of them - nothing was enough. For him, for Chanel, for Zoraya and Randy, for Gigi. Eventually, he let go, gesturing for her to come in. "Your hands?" His throat was still sore, voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper.
That had been the last text. Sent at 8:12pm. Replied to with four emojis. Their plans had never existed within the realm of where they currently sat. Or rather, where Gianna sat. The night had been a blur from the moment she'd received the call. How she'd gotten herself up and to the hospital was an answer unbeknownst to her. Even entering through the automatic doors, the fluorescent lights, all to find the Calloway's, had felt as if she were pulled on a string through an endless sea of faces.
Had she been at the Nines that night, maybe it'd have been different. Maybe Dior's fate could have been different. Maybe she'd have been able to help her, to pull her out from the flames. The loop of those thoughts within her mind had swallowed everything else - Soraya's crying somewhere in the distance, what the doctor had said, all of it reduced to something happening underwater.
The air seemingly wouldn't come into her lungs, when her throat felt as if it had closed up and sealed itself shut. When the tears wouldn't stop falling and she'd given up on wiping them away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Yves' voice had brought her back, paired with the rush of intake of oxygen into her lungs when she turned to him with wide eyes and a nod that arrived before she'd processed what she was agreeing to.
Stay with you.
At their place. Hers and Dior's. The door she'd walked through ten thousand times without thinking about the day she'd enter to find something unfamiliar. Something unbearable. Her lips parted around a thought that didn't finish itself, burning brown eyes lifting to find his. "We don't -" The words came out slow, disconnected from everything, pulled from somewhere slightly outside of her consciousness. "We don't have any cereal." Somehow her mind had drifted to breakfast, to what she associated with Yves' staying over.
It felt as if everything was moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Yves couldn't focus on the pain that it caused him to speak up, or on the cough that continued to leave him, the way his bones ached from everything he'd tried to do to save everyone. And yet he hadn't been able to help her. Tears rolled down his face, another thing he had yet to even realize. It was almost as if his body acted on his own accord. All he could think about, for some reason, was that Gigi would get back to a home that had once been Dior's too.
He didn't know how feel the empty spaces that his youngest sister was leaving behind for everyone around him, and even if he knew it wasn't his job, Yves didn't know what else to do for those around him. He would never be able to pull it off - to give everyone the same feeling that Dior had offered them for so long. And he, more than anything, couldn't think of who to run to after something like this when she wasn't around.
Gianna's words only made his shoulders slump and though it was a few seconds after, Yves slipped an arm around her slowly - for her sake or his own, he didn't even know. Another different thing anyway. It would no longer be all three of them, eating cereal and talking about nonsense and people in their lives. Because his sister, Gianna's best friend, would never step through those doors ever again. Tears ran freely down Yves' face and he held onto Gianna. "We'll figure it out." He let out, raspy voice as he shook his head.
the hospital had broken into chaos and while they were equipped to handle it , there were people who closely impacted by the aftermath. she wanted to focus on the tasks at hand rather than her sister's involvement. she looked through the list of those affected and saw a familiar name , she was handed the chart and made her way into his room. " oh yves , " she said attempting to hide the sadness in her tone. all three calloways had been directly involved and the nines were gone but she knew the physical things were what hurt the least.
" how's your breathing ? " she asked , looking at the monitors before turning back to look at him. " there's nothing i can say in this situation to make anything easier but --- if you need anything just , let me know. "
Yves felt as if he was hiding from everything behind the oxygen mask that was still on his face. He'd only returned to his room to retrieve his clothes, still dirty with ashes and smelling of fire and whatever chemical had caused the fire that had taken his sister from him. The youngest. There was no doubt in his mind - someone had caused this. It was too similar to last time, except this time, it had taken way more than just the walls of a bar that he and his family had managed to rebuild.
Tears stained his face when he removed the mask, both caused by the smoke inhalation and constant coughing, and the news that the doctor had just dropped on his entire family. His voice was thin, yet another consequence of it all. "I asked to be discharged. I can't stay here, Luna...I can't." He informed her, knowing that the other doctor had recommended he stay. He couldn't. Not right now. Not even the familiarity of Lunara could get him to stay when he didn't even know where to fun off to. "Can you check on Chanel too, please?"
Yves knew that he was supposed to be in pain after what he'd just survived, but he hadn't felt so numb ever before. Only a few minutes had passed since the doctor had announced Dior's death to their family, Yves had almost missed it if he hadn't stubbornly walked himself out to hear the news - oxygen mask hung around his neck as he ignored the doctor's orders. It felt as if his life had just been turned upside down. He couldn't understand a world where his youngest sister wasn't texting him, a world where he couldn't show up to her apartment after a long day, seeking shelter from whatever had consumed him that day. Because of their minor injuries, he and Chanel were to remain at the Er to get treated, no need for more.
He'd stayed in the waiting room though, his eyes moving from his parents' retreating figures as they went outside to get some air, his other sister and finally landing on Gigi who was sitting right next to him. Or maybe he had sat down next to her, he couldn't remember. Coughing lightly, Yves rubbed at his eyes and sniffled. "Can I stay with you tonight?" It was out of nowhere, as if he couldn't find the right words to say anything to any of them, his mind going a mile a minute and his body had yet to catch up, his voice breaking multiple times as soreness from his injuries took over.
𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝 of confirmation. “i mean, i was working. but i still wore some ridiculous rented dress. so i got to stand around being utterly useless in heels instead of my usual uniform.” all that presence, all those uniforms, and pantheon still got a bomb onto a private island. what a joke. “it was all so pretentious anyway,” she went on with a quiet scoff. “like rich people need to be wined and dined on a private island before they even consider giving money to charity.” the cynicism had never really left her. if anything, the job just sharpened it; same feeling she’d had as a kid, watching girls show up in juicy tracksuits and coach bags while she worried if there would be food in the pantry. “the whole bomb scare thing makes everything else seem trivial but,” she hesitated, her lips curving into something halfway between regret and fondness. “how have you been otherwise?” then, almost as an afterthought— “and can i trouble you for whatever’s on tap? ‘cause honestly? i need a fucking drink.”
Yves couldn't help but smile at Kennedy's words - it almost felt as if they were younger all over again, and she was rambling on and on about whatever was bothering back then. Those days, everything felt like the end of the world, but now as an adult, Yves almost say all the disagreements that led them to separate and to become other people was almost nothing. "Wasn't that better than you having to work that event though?" To be fair, Yves didn't even know if cops worked private events. They love rules though, so having them work boring events was probably right up their alley, sue him.
"Gotcha," he poured her drink, sliding the glass toward her easily before he answered her question. "Been alright. The bomb definitely killed the mood, but up until then I hadn't hated the night, if I'm honest." Before, he'd have to worry about renting a tux, he'd probably even avoid attending, actually. But nowadays, he felt he belonged in that world more and more. Lately, it felt as if all the Calloway's were doing better. The Nines was at its highest moment in a long time, so that helped. "Did they make you attend?"
Ellie sat at the small table by the window, waiting for Yves to return with their drinks as her gaze drifted past the glass without settling on anything in particular. In the aftermath of Robin’s Island, Eleanor had decided she was due for an escape. It didn't matter where she went, only that there was an ocean in front of her and enough distance between herself and the city to finally breathe. God, she missed Malibu. So when Yves’s reflection appeared in the window and moved steadily closer to the table, she turned toward him at once, unable to stop the bright smile that came so easily to her lips.
“What do you think about taking a teeny, tiny, little vacay?” She asked him, leaning forward to reach for her coffee and lifted it for a small sip. “Just for like a couple of days.” She thought to add after brief pause as if she needed to soften the idea before it sounded too impulsive. "Because I was thinking the Hamptons, and I found this really really cute place that's like right on the water." Lowering the cup back to the table as she continued. "And I really need a tan." Spray tans only lasted for so long, and there was no way she would ever step foot in a tanning bed. Ellie had seen Final Destination enough times to know exactly how that ended.
The masquerade had definitely been a rougher event than he'd predicted, so much for a nice little date night for he and Ellie, if you asked Yves. Granted, it had all fizzled into nothing, but everything that continued to happening recently just made Yves hyper-aware of just how much was at risk that night. Almost everyone that he cared about, minus his parents, were in that greenhouse and island that night. He wasn't new to feeling helpless, unfortunately given his upbringing. But that feeling had went away the past few months after joining The Cavalry - now it was almost back. Not that Yves was showing it now or ever. When he sat across from Ellie, placing their order on the table carefully, Yves' smile barely fit in his face; matching hers without even trying to.
It sounded like a dream, honestly. "I say," he paused dramatically, taking a sip of his espresso before he continued, "when do you want to leave?" Vacations were rare for him, and yet, he had began to realize that when it came to Ellie, he could be a bit reckless. A weekend away couldn't kill them - she certainly had a lot more on her plate than he did these days, with her literally leading an organization. Placing his coffee cup down, Yves leaned forward in his seat, eyes locking on hers. "I can get us there in record time, I'm just sayin'" Yves mumbled with a playful grin. "Our last date was kinda cursed so I gotta make it up to you and all."
